Crisis
by Yuuki no Yuki
Summary: I was just an average college student. I'd go to work, go to school, and watch anime. Sometimes, if I was *really* feeling up to it, I would even try my hand at this thing called "sleep." I really was just average...until I wasn't. SI/OC Nation [South Africa]. Slow-building, eventual RussiaXOC.
1. Crisis

**A/N :**Well hello everybody! I really shouldn't be starting this when I have two other fics going on...but, meh. Too late now. Anywho, this little ficlet got started because I really wanted a well written RussiaxOC fic and I couldn't find one (if any of you know some feel free to PM!) so I figured, why not write it yourself? Now, to circumvent any possible flames let me state that this is a _Self-Insert_, the girl in this fic is representative of _me_. That being said nations are conglomerations of their people.

So here's what we're gonna do; we're going to assume that every characteristic that we don't like in the OC is part of _my_ character, and does not reflect the nation as a whole (excluding obvious stereotypes) and everything else can be attributed to her nation status. So feel free to point out her flaws, but don't get offended. It's not fun dealing with easily offended people.

Well, ttfn, ta ta for now!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia, if I did I'd own the world, and my world domination plans are still in the testing stage...but you didn't hear that...shh...

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"When written in Chinese, the word 'crisis' is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other represents opportunity."

**~ John F. Kennedy ~**

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><p>People always say to be careful of what you wish for. As if wanting something, or worse <em>admitting<em> said want, was just asking for the world to screw you. On the same vein people also warn against admitting the one thing you _don't_ want aloud. As that too was just asking for the "laws of irony" to smite you.

And if, for whatever reason, you ignore the first two laws and find yourself in a less than favourable position, don't, under **_any_** circumstances, utter the phrase, "well, it can't get worse."

Because, it will, without a doubt, and nearly instantly, _get_ worse.

Trust me.

I speak from experience.

Looking back on it I can't quite explain how I went from _home_ to **_here_** its sort of a blur, much like how I still don't quite grasp how things went from _bad_ to **_worse,_** it just sort of rolled into it as if that was the intended destination the whole time.

All I know is one moment I was staring at a stack of paperwork, trying to make a decision that would affect the _rest of my life_ when a crippling migraine erupted, and my eyes closed in response. My whole body _curling_ in on itself in pain.

Luckily it passed as quickly as it had come on, unluckily when I opened my eyes I found myself in a completely new location.

Before I get into my...story-And "story" really is the only way to explain it, as it is nothing but one fantastical event after another-I should probably explain a few things about myself, give you some background if you will.

First, my name...that one is a little complicated.

Which "name" would you prefer? The one given to me at birth? The one tossed at me when I woke up here? Or how about the one complete strangers associate with me, the name I associate with myself...but you know...not _as_ myself?

Eh, why not all three?

My "name" _was_ Marie Jones. That is the name that was written on my birth-certificate, the name I've associated with for the past 20 years. The name that defines _me,_ and encompasses _my_ identity. However, "my identity" has greatly changed since that moment, however long ago, when I closed my eyes on the citizenship paperwork and opened them to find myself surrounded by a bunch of _strangely_ familiar strangers.

At first I thought I must have been hallucinating, after all I had been under a lot of stress. I was in between semesters for my chem-degree, working a job coaching the local girls gymnastics team, and facing the rather critical question of whether I should file for citizenship or not.

It was the last one that had been giving me the biggest headache.

My mother couldn't understand what there was to think about. She'd become an American Citizen the second it was an option, my siblings too. But my situation was slightly different than theirs.

I wasn't like my Mother who had _chosen_ to leave her home, hopes of a family-friendly (but mainly safe and _secure_) country spurring her on, nor was I like my younger sister who only knew her home from stories, pictures, and memories of visits.

I _loved_ my country, everything about it. It was far from perfect, I knew that much-and when I say "far from perfect" I really mean "pretty darn bad." In fact it's history was gritty and too recent to have faded from the minds of the populace, but it was still _home._

The food, the music, heck even the ridiculous need to add "sorry" to the end of every sentence despite the fact that we were the furthest thing _from_ "sorry," all of it, every quirk and phrase, it was all a part of _who I was_. Of who I _am._

I couldn't explain it to my mother.

America's always been a fair nation, and they allowed for duel-citizenship. It's not like I'd _have_ to renounce my heritage, not _really._ But every-time I glanced at the paperwork something would settle in my stomach. Something bitter, and heavy, that I couldn't quite define but seemed to contest the idea of _ever,_ so much as _considering,_ turning my back on my nation.

I've always believed strongly in listening to one's instincts, and everyone of _my_ instincts were screaming at me not to sign the paperwork. But when I couldn't think of a logical reason _not_ to, I decided to veto my instincts...and then the migraine hit.

Now when I say 'migraine' I _mean _'migraine.' This boys and girls, was _no_ headache. No this tore, and _ripped_, and _**shredded**. _This attack_attack__**attacked**_ me, until I couldn't _see_. Couldn't_ hear._ Couldn't _anythi__ng. _I was lost to sensations and _painpainpain_...and then it stopped.

It was over.

The pain was gone, and I could _think_ again. Could _hear_ again. Opening my eyes, I could even _see_ again...

...and I was suddenly surrounded by a bunch of strangers. That were all men. Militaristic men. Militaristic men that were staring at me as if I would attack them at any moment.

So I did what any sensible girl would do in my situation.

I screamed.

Looking back on it, it was probably the worst impression I could have made. What I must have looked like...its embarrassing, honestly. But in my defense I didn't expect to have to spend time with these men, nor did I expect that they would hold my reaction against me for _years._

(I _still_ get cracks about how I looked like a startled antelope, a literal "deer in headlights." Which, admittedly, would be funnier if you knew...)

Anyway, I was shocked, I screamed yada yada. Eventually one of the men managed to calm me down. It helped that he spoke English-I nearly fainted when one of them started yelling German at me (all I knew was "Welcome" (Vel-kom) and "Danke" (Da-n-kay))-although his British accent both put me on edge and relaxed one hand, British accents are actually pretty relaxing, on the other hand_ where the heck was I__!?_

He must've repeated his question ten times before I finally understood he was asking for my name. I responded instantly, and perhaps naively, with the truth;

"Marie Jones."

Apparently this was _not_ the right answer, I would learn later that they already had a "Jones" and for some reason "we" weren't allowed to share names, which was why they all stared at me as if I was an alien. Of course I didn't know this at the time and so was suitably lost when they started talking about "re-naming me."

Unfortunately, for _me_, very few of them spoke English competently, thus it fell to the British guy to give me a new name. I was a little pissed by this to be honest. After all what right did he have to mess with my identity like that? I couldn't be "Jones" fine, but at least let _me_ chose my new label.

Perhaps it was pure vindictiveness, but when he suggested I be called "Elizabeth Marie John" (because "John" was close enough to "Jones" that I'd remember it, and "Elizabeth" to 'remind me of my roots' or something) I countered with "Elize Marie Johannes," arguing that it was close enough to his own choice and besides if I _had to_ choose a new name (when I asked why I couldn't keep "Marie" he went off on some rant about some guy named Francis and how Elizabeth was the better sister, anyway) then I was damn-well going to chose a name that I _liked_.

This apparently _was_ the right thing to say as something sparked in the eye of the German man who started yelling at the Brit, in _English._

"Elize, ist a_...guter_ name. Britain. Südaf-ak, I mean _she_ is now Elize."

...or well, something resembling English.

I had no idea (at the time) why the German guy referred to the Brit as "Britain" and thought that perhaps it was some kind of nickname? But eventually brushed it off as unimportant, more interested in the escalating argument that took place.

"Now, listen here Ger-_Ludwig_," the Brit started (I pitied the poor guy for having a name like Jerluhdvig) "she is _far_ too young to be deciding such things for herself, it might have been agreed that I hand the reigns over-so to speak-but I'm hardly going to abandon ship now, am I? I'm much too invested, you see?"

"Nein," the German responded, voice tempered, "I do not 'see', Elize is Elize," he continued with a sort of finality, "and Arthur is Arthur. Now I must go, there is trouble at the borders." And with that the German man left.

Leaving me with the recently dubbed "Arthur" and some guy who'd been too busy staring off into space to introduce himself.

I stared.

Arthur stared.

Random guy daydreamed.

And so on.

This continued for a ridiculous amount of time before "Arthur" snapped (apparently silence was insulting to him) and started yelling at the poor, quiet guy.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, staring in to space like that?" 'Arthur' yelled, "you were the one who kicked up such a big fuss about not being included!"

The guy just slowly turned from the window to face the Brit, before opening his mouth, "ah, but...Zuid...sorry _Elize,"_ here he sent a smirk at the Brit, as if my new name was a personal favour to him, "she likes you...no...your English. Yes. She likes your English. So you talk. Explain." The guy then turned his back on the Brit, looking back out the window.

"Arthur" then turned away from the odd man-the dude was decked out in _chain mail_-and gave me a searching look before launching into one of the craziest stories I'd ever heard of, and I'd heard of a lot.

What I got out of it was, basically, the guy to my right, 'Abel' had a child, a girl, with some far-off African beauty. The mother raised the child in the Savannahs of Africa but allowed Abel to teach her all about his culture, his food, his language, you name it.

Abel and the girls' mother would always argue about what was best for her until one day, after a particularly mean argument the woman ran in to Arthur, and instantly fell in love. Arthur, who had the "noblest of intentions" he assured me, promised to tell Abel off for the woman, and after seeing her beautiful baby girl even offered to adopt her.

In the end he did, and everything was great, except not long after Arthur finalized the adoption paperwork did his little girl disappear. She wasn't stolen, she had simply...faded.

One-by-one others slowly forgot about the existence of the little girl. She was too young to have made any meaningful connections and out of the three people who truly knew of her existence; her mother had other children to contend with, and Abel had already been cut from her life.

But Arthur _never_ forgot, he knew why she'd vanished-it was _his_ fault; she was so _new,_ so _young,_ she didn't even have an _identity_ yet and there he'd been stamping everything with his seal. He knew _why_ but he didn't have to like it.

That was the story he spun.

Now. I'm a pretty liberal thinker, and by liberal I mean I neither coloured in nor out of the lines...I traced them. But even I had to question if this guy was on some of the drugs I'd noticed in the chain-mail guy's pocket.

I mean, _really_? The girl just "disappeared" because of some weird existential crisis that baby's shouldn't be capable of having?

I thought he was flippin' insane.

When he went on to say that _I_ was that baby, that _I'd_ faded back in to existence now that I "knew who [I] was," well insane doesn't even begin to cover it.

When this...crackpot story took on a whole new twist-apparently Abel was the personification of the Netherlands and Arthur was the same for Great Britain (that guy from before had supposedly been Germany)-I decided I'd had enough and started to look for a way out.

After some swift head turning I located the door that the guy from before had used and made a dash for it. Only to be stopped by four, damning, words, "-and you're South Africa."

Now if any of you were in my shoes you probably wouldn't have hesitated to get as far away from mister crazy as you possibly could. But you see one of my biggest flaws has always been my curiosity. Yes I know, it killed the cat and all that, but at that moment I really didn't care...

...I just wanted to know how this guy _knew_ I was South African. How _all of them_ knew, (I wasn't slow, and could piece together that both "Germany" and "The Netherlands" had stopped themselves from saying "South Africa" while talking to me.) So I asked, without any preamble.

His answer surprised me.

"My leaders were just signing the bloody accord with yours, marking you as a "free" country. Which is ridiculous if you ask me. Its not like you were _enslaved. _Still, you'll be heavily linked to Great Britain, to _me_ but an identity all your own even so."

Here he paused as if trying to gather his thoughts, trying to find words to explain the unexplainable.

"...well, then I _felt it..._a heavy magic in the air, the likes of which I'd never seen-although your Mother was famous for her magic-(I didn't bother to correct him, too tired to argue about who _was_ and who she _wasn't_)-but this didn't feel like hers, it was too...too _diverse._ Too _different._ So I followed it, and there you were passed out in the middle of the road, a rainbow light shining behind you."

I couldn't quite keep in the scoff, "ri~ght. And I suppose that light was what told you I was South Africa." At his confused expression I continued, "you know, because South Africa is the rainbow nation, and all of that?"

"Rainbow nation? What the bloody hell are you talking about? I knew who you were instantly because any nation can recognize another nation."

I gave him a weird stare, not quite sure what he meant by 'recognize' but shelved that question for later, "but assuming, for a moment, that I am a 'nation'...what made you think I was South Africa?"

"Well your location, of course, who else could you be?"

"Uh, I don't know? Madagascar? Lesotho? Swaziland? Anyone of those are close enough, I suppose."

Arthur just continued to stare at me as if I had lost my mind, ridiculously large eyebrows scrunched in consternation, at one point he even raised his hand to check if I had a temperature before catching himself and stopping halfway.

"Well," he began, self-consciously lowering his hand, "I'm not really sure what you're on about. Madagascar? Lesotho? What, or perhaps I should say _where_ are those nations? I've never heard of them. As for Swaziland, well I've met him, in fact he stays in my holiday home in East-India, so I _know_ you're not him."

Something about what Arthur said rubbed me the wrong way, I was never good at history growing up preferring literally _every other_ subject; math, language, science, you name it. Just not _history._ But even I knew enough to suspect something when a person claiming to be "Britain" mentioned "East India."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well," Arthur explained as if to a child, "I'm a big strong nation, and Swaziland is rather small and scared. So I protect him. You know, keep the bullies away."

"You're not trying to tell me," I began, mind furiously flipping through what little I knew of African History, "that Swaziland is a British Protectorate?"

"Since 1902," the man stated with pride, chest puffing out.

"Arthur..." I began, almost scared of his response, "what year is it?"

"Ah, today is a most auspicious day indeed. The 10th of May, year 19 and two of thirty of our Lord."

"1932!?" I all but screamed, before falling to a dead faint.

It was simply too much to take in at once.

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><p><strong>AN:** Hopefully you liked the first chapter, if so (or if not) please read and review! I'll be sure to respond at the bottom of the next chapter. **  
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Chapter 2 preview:

_"Elize, it's been two bloody years, your people need you."_


	2. Acceptance

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"The first step toward change is awareness. The second is acceptance."

**~ Nathaniel Branden ~**

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><p>Eventually I came too and found myself lying in a cement chalet, half brick and half straw, listlessly gazing at the moonlight peeking through the gaps in the roof. I stared in uncomprehendingly at the straw roof, pondering everything that had just been revealed to me.<p>

Arthur...that name seemed rather familiar.

A guy named Arthur who called himself "Britain"...Arthur...someone named "Jones" a German called "Ludwig" and a guy named "Francis" ...it simply couldn't be a coincidence, not when there were so many similarities.

A wise-man once said; once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

Thus, however crazy it may seem, I had to accept that I was, for all intents and purposes, in world of Hetalia. I'd always liked Hetalia, had even made a lofty wish on a star to allow me to meet my favorite characters-and there was rule number one broken-but I had never wanted to be _in_ the show.

You would think this would freak me out, but honestly the revelation barely registered.

The fact that I was now, supposedly, the personification of my home, barely registered.

Heck, I hardly even blinked at the idea that I was now-technically-immortal.

No, what stuck out to me most, what kept repeating in my head over-and-over-and-over again, was the year;1932. The year of South Africa's independence, 62 years before 1994 the year that marked both my birth and South Africa's rebirth. And was 20 years before my own time-line.

That's 82 years.

82 years of history that I would need to live through, not as myself, but as a nation, a _leader,_ a person responsible for _millions of lives_. 82 years that I would need to live through, _without screwing things up_.

This might seem like a pointless thing to worry about, after all WWII, the Cold War, _Apartheid_ they're all incredibly important granted, but I should be fine as long as I act according to the history books. And there-in lies my fear.

I hate history.

And admitting so broke my second rule, but it doesn't make it any less true.

I _hate_ history, and history must surely hate _me_ to stick me in such a predicament. I don't know how much power the nations truly have in government, I doubt I'd have too much power being so new and all, but I bet they'd give me enough rope to hang myself with.

I don't know how long I sat in that room contemplating my new situation, time seemed to pass rather oddly. But eventually my new "best friend" came to check on me with a rather serious expression.

"Elize," he said, causing me to jump and shoot him a confused look, before realizing that he was referring to _me._

"R-right," my voice croaked, unused to me talking, "that's my new name."

"Elize," Britain continued and I was suddenly struck with the wish to know how he had gotten 'here' (wherever 'here' was) as I hadn't seen a door from my stationary place in the corner.

I was also sort of curious as to _what_ 'here' was. (I mean, I knew it was a chalet but who did it belong to? Where was the owner?)

"You can't stay coped up here forever, its bad for you." He implored. "Isolation is not the way to go, you're people need to stretch their wings, I know this has been quite a shock, but I won't let you go the way of Japan."

Here he started muttering something about 'Abel' and how just because _he'd_ kept his friendship with Japan through his own isolation, didn't mean Britain needed to call on him, now, in _this_ situation.

"Elize, its been two bloody years, your people need you."

Well, _that_ certainly got my attention.

"No man!" I yelled, wincing at my accent...it hadn't been that strong yesterday, I was sure, "No," I started again, "it's been 2 weeks. _At most_." I stressed.

Arthur just gave me a pitying look. "Have you even stepped foot out of your house since I left?"

"How do you mean _my_ house? And _WHY THE HELL_, am I suddenly speaking like a Brit?!"

Arthur winced before scratching his head awkwardly, "we~ll," he began, "if you'd stepped outside you may have noticed your people have been..."

"Ja?" (Yah?)

"...um, well let's just say not everyone is happy that you're here, and why would they be when you're sitting here sulking like a complete wanker?!" Arthur yelled pulling me from my corner of 'sulkdom', "I _know_ I raised you better than this, come on and carry on!"

Narrowing my eyes at Britain's insensitivity-I mean its not like I've just lost _EVERYTHING_ and _EVERYONE_ I had ever cared about-I couldn't help but spitting, "_you_ never raised me, remember? In fact, if anything, you very nearly _killed_ me. I don't know what in f*** name is going on, but I damn well _know_ I shouldn't be saying things like 'how do you mean'!"

A tense moment passed with Britain and I staring off before the old nation seemed to come to a decision and sighed.

"Look, Elize, the truth is...I have no bleeding idea why you said that. _No one_ can tell you why...except for _you_ and-perhaps-whoever the hell you lot put in charge."

After a moment of tense contemplation I decided to take Arthur at his word-what reason would he have to lie to me, after all?-as I had some questions to ask him.

"How did yo-what, _what_ did you mean by 'two years'?"

"Well," Arthur began, "you're a nation, in her home, _alone,_ that means you've had nothing to keep you grounded."

At my 'huh?' face, he continued.

"Time passes differently for nations than it does for most, we can live hundreds, upon hundreds of years. If we don't have something holding our attention its easy to just zone out and let the time slip away. You're lucky, you're young so you easily snapped out of it. Some bloody nations coop themselves up for hundreds of years."

The way Arthur said that so bitter with just a trace of hurt, I couldn't help but think there was a Nation in specific he'd been referring to.

"So you're telling me," I began slowly, "that I could just sit here for, lets say, 80 years? And it'd feel like less than two years had passed?"

Arthur nodded slowly, before raining on my parade, "if you're thinking of being all lassiez-faire," he began, wincing at his own use of the French word, _"don't._ You're young, you don't know the kind of trouble your government can get up to without you there to curb their impulsive nature. Bloody idiots, the lot of them."

On the contrary, I thought, I knew _exactly_ what sort of trouble RSA would get up to. And I also wondered if it was even possible to circumvent it...if I even wanted to circumvent it.

A nation is made up of its failures as much as its successes. What would Russia be if it had never gone through the Cold War? Japan if it had never allied with the Axis? What would an England that had never tried to become an Imperial Empire look like? What would a _world_ not untied by English rule, look like?

What would _my world_, 80 years down the road, become...if we never invented the atomic bomb? The fallout was horrible but it lead to _so much_, to the space race, to radiology, to the collapse of the Berlin freakin' wall!

Who was I to stand in the way of the future?

But who was I to ignore the atrocities of the past?

South Africa.

I was _South Africa_.

Land of the first successful heart-transplant, South Africa. Inventor of the CAT-scan, South Africa. Speaker of the youngest language in the world, South Africa.

But I was also, **_South Africa_**.

Separates her people, South Africa. Sharpeville and Soweto, South Africa. Robbin Island and 20 years of imprisoning Nelson Mandela, South Africa.

I was the good, the bad, and the ugly, and I had **_no idea_ **what to do about it.

I mean things were easy now, WWII was coming up, and while that sucked I doubt South Africa actually played a big part in the war. That is, assuming my American History books didn't leave anything out...like they did with Canada...and tend to do with anything America was involved with...and crap.

South Africa enters the war, doesn't it?

...well, I'll face that hurdle when it comes up. But still, that's pretty easy to deal with just point and shoot at the bad guys and all that. I mean as long as I remember Allies = _good,_ Axis = _bad,_ I should be fine. (I purposely ignored the fact that I had no idea if South Africa even _joined_ the Allies.)

After all, didn't a large group have a problem with all things British? There were like two wars about it, I remember, and South Africans can be pretty darn stubborn at times.

We would totally cut off our nose to spite our face. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilities that we would join the Axis Powers, even if we had no imperial goals, just to spite Britain...and damn.

This is what Arthur meant, isn't it? I need to get more involved with my leaders to stop them from making stupid decisions like backing the wrong group in the upcoming fight.

"Fine." I spat at the Brit-I'd go but I didn't have to _like it_.

"Fine?" He questioned, bushy brows scrunched up like caterpillars. "How do you mean?"

"Fine," I ground out, "I'll go meet who ever the f***'s in charge. And stop them from making any stupid policies." _'Foreign,'_ I added mentally, 'stop them from making any stupid _foreign_ policies.' I still had no freakin' idea what I was going do about all the stupid _domestic_ policies that are to be passed.

"Great, now just go to your closet and put on your formal wear. You want to make a good impression on your Prime Minister."

South Africa has a Prime Minister? Huh, guess we don't do the president thing until Mandela takes over, who da thunk.

Walking over to my closet, I opened it ready to grab the first outfit I came across. After all, if I'm really in the Hetalia universe then it stands to reason I only have one outfit-the one that best represents my nation-right?

Wrong.

"Uh...A-arthur," I called, staring in fear at my closet. "I don't know what to wear..."

Arthur made some sigh before slowly walking over and I secretly counted my luck that I was female and his "gentlemen" character would force him to help me if I so asked.

"Honestly, Elize," he called from around the corner, "just choose the most formal looki-bloody hell!" He yelled as he finally got a look at my closet. Or should I say, a look at my second bedroom.

When I first read Hetalia and had the question of what African Nations looked like I always wondered what clothes they would wear. I mean South Africa, for example, had a white government for _years_ but her people were predominantly tribal. So what style dress would she wear? The answer...all of them.

That's right.

My "closet" had clothes for _every single tribe_ in South Africa. And not just one outfit, oh no, it held formal wear, and casual wear, and military wear.

(I nearly screamed when I caught site of the leopard skin apron hanging next to the _isihlangu_ shield, and briefly entertained the thought of showing up in full Zulu tribal wear when meeting my Prime Minister.)

Ultimately I scratched the idea as they probably wouldn't have found it funny, in fact Arthur probably wouldn't have found it very funny...

"Well..." Arthur began unsure, and I wondered if he ever had this problem with his own closet. Did he wake up in the morning with the question as to whether it was a kilt wearing day? Or was he just so set in his ways that he didn't even bother wearing other clothes anymore?

Probably the later.

Well that's just sad. Looking around my closet that easily held over 30 different outfits, I vowed to never become that static. I _would_ wear every single outfit there, even if only once. And modesty be _damned_! I was South Africa, if my people could walk around with just a grass skirt, then so could I!

Mini motivational speech complete I reached for the first outfit I could find. But then paused to ask Britain the time of year.

"Huh? Oh, right. It's August, August 4th, 1934."

August, I thought, reaching for the grass-skirts, so sum-_No!_ I mentally yelled, "Southern Hemisphere' it's _Winter._"

Shuddering as I remembered the last South African winter I braved I reached to grab one of the heaviest outfits I could find.

Which just so happened to be the Dutch-pilgrim dresses of the early Afrikaaner settlers.

"Well," I commented, turning to Britain with a wry smile, "here's to hoping our current Prime Minister is a Boer."

I nearly died laughing at the look on the Brit's face. "Our? What is this 'our?'" He called, while I made my escape to the nearest bathroom. And I'd have to get used to brass keys acting as my locks again.

"He is most certainly _your_ Prime Minister." He continued, "_my_ Prime Minister is Ramsay MacDonald, in fact, outside our your being a dominion under his Majesty King George II, we share _no_ government officials!"

Huh, so South Africa's a dominion, we have a monarchy.

The more you know.

"Okay," I called, stepping out from the bathroom, "how do I look?"

...Arthur just gazed at me, confused-and what right did he have to judge my outfit when I _know_ he spent years dressed as a _**pirate**_ of all things!

"Um," he mumbled, "you look very...conservative?"

"Is that supposed to be a compliment? You can do better than that!"

"You look...very 19th century?"

"Agh!" I yelled, throwing my hands up, "man, just forget it. We need to go somewhere, ne?"

"Right." Britain called, opening my front door, "well come along!" He grabbed my hand pulling me behind him, "we need to see a man about a dog."

The next thirty minutes, while we _walked_ to parliament (apparently I needed to be "seen" by my people, or something), was spent teasing Britain about all his weird sayings;

_"Oi, horses for course, and all that."_

And laughingly correcting him when he called my sayings weird.

_"Sis, man. Stop it, you're going to make me pee myself."_

They weren't weird, just-you know...inventive.

It was the first time in two weeks (read: two years) that I'd been able to really relax.

I was still pretty confused by this whole thing, and had a million questions-how did I get here? How did I first _leave_ here (if Arthur was to be believed)? Which world was the 'real' world? Was this world the same as the show from _that_ world? Was that world's history the same as _this _world's future?-but, for thirty minutes, I managed to bench them all and focus on the _present._

On the _here_ and _now._

I laughed with Arthur, and wondered if it would really be so terrible to be a nation. If maybe I hadn't been a bit fatalistic about the whole thing. If I couldn't make _true, _make _lasting_ friendships here.

After all, a person could survive anything if surrounded by friends.

I laughed, and I smiled, and I felt something _shift,_ it was slight. Like a light-refraction, or a swarm of gnats in the air, a very slight distortion. But it was _something,_ and I knew, without Britain explaining, I just _knew,_ I had managed to "ground" myself.

And after "grounding" myself, I started to see _them._

My people.

I hadn't noticed at first, so distracted by the highs and lows of the past few days. But the entire time Britain and I had been walking-and if it had felt like 30 minutes to me before I was 'grounded' it could have very well been a _day-we_ hadn't seen a single citizen.

Or should I say, they were _there_ but they were faceless, essence-less, in a different realm.

They were like the humans from Spirited Away, _there_ yet _not._ They were so substance-less, that I hadn't paid them any mind. Hadn't even acknowledged their existence, in fact.

Now, however, things were different.

Cities were bustling, I could hear the noise of the local vendors. It was as if every sense before had been muffled, had been seen as if from under water, and now suddenly it was all so bright, so loud.

Honestly, it gave me a headache.

Everything was suddenly _more,_ and yet...the people, they looked normal enough, but they were more washed out than normal. The blond not quite as blond, the blues and greens lacking a certain _shine._

Looking from Britain to my people it was like comparing two pictures; one coloured with pencils, the other markers. There was a clear discrepancy in..._vibrancy._

And before entering the parliamentary building, I couldn't help but wonder if this is what Britain had meant about nations "recognizing" each other.

If so I could understand why they didn't often hangout with non-nations. Just looking around, I felt..._different._ Not better, not worse, just...not a part...not a part of _anything._ And yet I was a part of _everything.__  
><em>

Being a nation means isolation, it means decisions, and pain, but it also meant a _chance_. A real chance to make a difference. How many times had I claimed the government should do 'this' or 'that'? How many times had I ripped into a new policy? Or criticized an old regime?

I never wanted to go into politics growing up. Too much bureaucracy, I'd say. But this...this _system_, it by-passed all the red-tape. Nations, personified Nations that were left to deal with foreign affairs. In its own, twisted way, it was brilliant.

And a tiny part of me, so small that I would never admit to it, was the slightest bit glad I had found my way here.

I was young, I was childish, and I was most definitely naive. But that's okay, because so was South Africa. So were _my people_. I could feel it in my bones; the way I could tell war was on the horizon. The way I could tell it would cause a split in my country. I could _feel_ that South Africa was ready to have a voice.

That we were ready to make a difference.

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><p><strong>AN: **Well here y'all go, chapter 2 of "Crisis" hopefully you liked it. We should be meeting some more Nations next chapter, well see...Anyway, thanks to all who favourited/alerted/reviewed! You guys rock!

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**rednightmares: **Your wish is my command *bows* haha, and thank you for your review! It really does mean so much to see people's opinions of my story :)

**Lady Bec of Imagineland: **Thank you, I should update-hopefully, but no promises-around once a week or so. :)

**Platinum: **HERE YOU GO! :) Just wanted to thank you _sooo _much for being my first reviewer for this story. Hopefully you'll continue to enjoy it.

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Chapter 3 preview:

_"So, anything interesting happen while I was cooped up?"_

_"Well, that new up-start, Hitler, just merged Germany's chancellor and presidential offices. He calls himself their 'Fuehrer,' hopefully he'll do better than old Hindenburg. Man was going senile in his old age. _Reichstag Fire Decree, _please, why not just declare Marshall law, while you're at it?"_

_"...uh...what?"_


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